


Teacups, Combs and Clotted Cream

by deathwailart



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Courtship, Cultural Differences, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Meddling, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Bofur thinks it'd be enough just to be friends with Bilbo because Bilbo is honest and true and lovely and there are behind the scenes meddling dwarves and wizards who know when a little nudging is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacups, Combs and Clotted Cream

On the road, Bilbo isn't the only one to miss the little things. Bofur can sympathise with him because he might not have much but he misses going down to his local with his fellow miners; everyone always wants to buy him a pint and he can't remember the last time he honestly had to buy one himself before setting off out on the quest. Even then, when they stopped at Bree the Men were only too happy to have him well in his cups once he started chattering away, getting them to laugh. In Ered Luin there was a reason folk liked keeping Bofur happy. He was good at helping to keep the peace in disputes because he'd always been able to see both sides and given that Bombur had a certain shyness to him he was perhaps a touch more gentle in his manner of speech. Blunt certainly but call a spade a spade and all that. He was common as the mud he never quite managed to get out from under his nails and quite happy about it too. He liked his simple pleasures at his stall selling toys with Bifur and telling tales or helping the children to understand what Bifur's tales were about. Bifur always sold more toys even if his toys were terrifying at times with their twisted grins and snarling faces, angular and jagged but he's always gentle with them. Children like Bifur, asking in whispers if they can touch the axe and they run off with peals of giggles. Bombur's brood certainly show no fear because uncle Bifur is a mountain to scale and the one who'll eat the greens they never want.  
  
The fact is, Bofur understands. He truly does. He doesn't have the sprawling hole under the ground but the home he shares with Bifur suits him just fine with Bombur next door, Bombur's wife and the children bustling in and out as they see fit because Bombur might be the younger brother but he doesn't apparently trust Bofur to keep himself and Bifur well fed.  
  
Bombur's probably never forgiven Bofur for the incident with the roast. He's only allowed to fetch things if they're cooking and to plate it out, no food preparation for someone who chars the outside of meat but leaves it cold and bloody in the middle.  
  
Home for Bofur is a roof over his head, a fire in the hearth, the smell of soot and iron clinging to him because those are the sort of smells his people find comfort in. Even Thorin and his nephews smell of iron and metal shavings from forges but he's never quite sure how to mention something like that to their burglar because it's an odd thing to tell him. Bilbo smells like grass after it rains and he wonders if the hobbit notices how often he reaches out to touch plants as they walk, tall grasses, dragging a nail up to free the seeds and let them dance in the wind. Or the way he plucks flowers and tucks them into the pockets of his increasingly tattered waistcoat. Sometimes Bilbo and Ori sit by the fire, Ori with his book out and talk about plants with their heads bent together; gardening is something of a passion  
  
"I look the furthest thing from a respectable hobbit," Bilbo says one afternoon as they walk, keeping pace with Bofur, "all my nice buttons gone to the goblins, I don't expect the mud and, well I'm not sure I want to know what else might be staining my clothes by now, will ever come out."  
  
"Don't you fret," Bofur replies and he feels comfortable enough to swing an arm around Bilbo's shoulders – the lads do it enough, one either side when they want to get up to some mischief or ask about hobbit lads and lasses and Thorin's embrace certainly seemed to change everyone's attitude to how to act around somehow who was truly a member of the company – grinning down at him. "I happen to know many a trick to keeping myself presentable." Bilbo gives him one of his blank looks, one Bofur is sure must be a Baggins thing (because they're really learning now about this Baggins vs Took divide, right interesting it is too) but there's a little smile lurking there, a twinkle in his eyes. It's a very attractive look and perhaps Bofur has entertained the odd moment of what it'd be like to have that look directed towards him but he continues, pretending to be hurt. "Hey, I scrub up well enough and if I didn't know how to get the worst of the dirt of the mines out then I'd have spent all my money buying new clothes."  
  
"I suppose I never thought of that – no one really mines in the Shire, I should imagine there's a great deal of danger to it."  
  
"Aye there is, there's no denying that but we're dwarves, we know what we're doing and we make sure to keep things safe as possible. A bit of money spent to support the mine goes a long way in the end, keeps them open, keeps the ore coming and that means money and everyone being happy." Of course it's hardly that simple what with so many vested interests but it's a damn sight better than it was. Bofur and his kin are from the west, they're not exiles from Erebor but he's heard many a story about the earlier days in Ered Luin when they were trying to cut costs simply because money was so tight for everyone. Even now there are accidents and Bofur's lucky, he knows he's damn lucky because he's got all his limbs and hasn't had much worse than broken bones and the cough isn't as bad as a lot of others.  
  
Bilbo is quiet as he so often is when he learns more of their culture and it's something Bofur admires about him. Yes there was friction but thirteen dwarves descending on a chap'd probably do that. He's far better than a lot of the Men who have much less than pleasant things to say and he quite rightly recognises Glóin's wife as a great beauty when he's finally shown a picture of her in the locket he wears. Not much for sentiment is Glóin until it comes to his wife and his son.  
  
"You're a toymaker too though?"  
  
Bofur nods, ducking his head and smiling with just a touch of sadness there. "My uncle – Bifur's old man – he taught us both, Bombur too but Bombur preferred to be in the kitchen cooking. It was something to do with my hands and I like making people happy."  
  
"You're very good at that," Bilbo agrees readily and it puts an extra spring in Bofur's step for the rest of the day. _Bilbo's just being nice_ , he tells himself, _but he's being honest too_ , another part of him whispers because Bilbo is an honest soul, a good soul.  
  
Later when they've made camp by a river, he offers to scrub Bilbo's clothes with his because he's going anyway.  
  
"O-oh you don't need to do that!" Bilbo protests when Bofur offers, doing his best to keep his voice down although Fíli and Kíli's heads jerk in their direction from where they're skinning the rabbits they caught for tonight's stew. "I'll be fine, it's silly to and I couldn't possibly ask it of you."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," and with a speed Nori would be proud of he plucks the waistcoat from Bilbo's hands and tucks it in with his own things to be washed. "I offered, you didn't ask." Before Bilbo can say more Bofur heads off with perhaps more haste than is necessary and he feels more than a little foolish but he pushes it aside. He's doing something nice for a friend, that's all there is to it, the way Bilbo sewed up a rip in his coat when he noticed that Bofur's elbow was starting to show through his coat. He's down by the river, scrubbing away without complaint when footsteps approach and he tenses, thinking it's Bilbo (which is ridiculous given that he's washing his waistcoat) but the footsteps are far too heavy and when he turns it's Bifur who appears, signing away to him in greeting with canteens to be filled.  
  
Bifur speaks in his mix of Khuzdul and Iglishmek that Bofur and Bombur understand readily because the three of them all stayed together to learn it after his accident. It's not always perfect, there are misunderstandings and there's still frustration on someone's part when Bifur either knows or feels he's not getting his mission across, gesturing and muttering angrily but they can all talk. It's not the same as it was before, when Bifur told them stories and they used to laugh and joke for hours but this quest is good for him even if Bofur had reservations because Bifur sometimes gets lost in fighting and he suspects (and maybe he could ask but it seems too private and too painful to ever try to question Bifur about what he remembers of his battle with the orc) that every foe is the one who left him with a chunk of rusting axe in his skull. But he's bright-eyed, he hums along with their songs, his gestures seem more fluid. He's alive. Bofur only wants his family to be as happy as he is and the thinks (he hopes) that Bifur is.  
  
It doesn't take long for Bifur to fill the canteens and then he sits back and watches Bofur. Bofur pretends not to notice until it becomes unbearable and all Bifur has to do is look at Bofur, the tattered waistcoat he's washing and then a jerk of the head back to camp.  
  
"I'm just being nice, it saves him a trip," he protests and gets the distinct impression Bifur is amused about the whole thing. "Don't you go telling Bombur!" He calls when his cousin heads back to the camp when Bifur departs as suddenly as he arrived, apparently satisfied that all is well. Bifur won't tell Bombur, not unless he's worried and there's no reason to be worried. A friend can do something nice for a friend – everyone has equal share in this venture and pulls their own weight. And he really does know how to get the worst stains out. Which sounds filthy in his head and when did he last blush like a fool? If Bombur finds out he'll get absolutely no peace because at times, when it comes to matters of the heart, Bombur is worse than Dori at mother henning, wanting everyone to find their happiness the way he has with his wife. Bofur loves his brother but he's a grown dwarf and he's happy as he is, there's no great longing for someone as hard as that might be for his very much in love brother to believe.  
  
When he gets back and hangs the waistcoat to dry at the camp Bilbo thanks him profusely, blushing right up to his ears. Fíli and Kíli then spend the rest of the night thanking each other and everyone else in more and more elaborate ways until Dwalin has enough and trips them both up and sends them sprawling. Before, when he was still new and not sure what to make of them all, Bilbo probably would have been disgruntled or trying to hide the hurt but instead he just laughs and steadies Fíli as he gets to his feet. Then he thanks Bofur again.  
  
"I'd forgotten what it's like to feel clean, I didn't think it was possible to get goblin out of fabric. You'd be the envy of half the wives in the Shire."  
  
That probably shouldn't make Bofur feel as proud as it does. "That's me, miner, toymaker, remover of unwanted stains." Bilbo laughs and sits by him as they all settle in to pass the time before they start to take watch. Thorin, Balin and Dwalin end up with their heads bent together, discussing plans, Dori has Gandalf cornered (and Bofur's sure he isn't imagining the wizard looking over at him and by extension Bilbo more than could be considered reasonable) – everyone's doing something as Bofur bends his head to his whittling, something to calm the mind now that they've all lost their instruments rendering a good campfire tradition out of the question for the most part. Bilbo doesn't move as he occupies himself with some mending work and it's nice, being elbow to elbow, not talking because they don't need to until Thorin declares it time for them to get some rest for a long day ahead and Bofur for one is glad to get some sleep before it's his shift, bidding Bilbo goodnight as he sorts his bedroll, settling alongside Bombur. He falls asleep quickly until Balin wakes him gently and to Bofur's surprise, Bilbo's up and sitting by the fire.  
  
Bilbo isn't really on watch – as much as he's one of them, he's still not as used to being up for as long, walking for as many miles and more than that, the nightly noises are still something potentially dangerous – but he usually likes to sit on shift with one of them, talking quietly.  
  
"Hello," he whispers so as not to disturb anyone as he takes the seat Balin has vacated. "Can't sleep?"  
  
"Not really, I expect I'll pay for that tomorrow when I stumble along bleary eyed," Bilbo comments wryly and Bofur huffs out a laugh.  
  
"Don't worry, if you do I'll catch you. Promise." He expects Bilbo to laugh but instead the hobbit turns to face him, his smile small but bright in the dark.  
  
"You've been a very good friend to me Bofur, since the very beginning. I wanted to say thank you for that-"  
  
"You don't have to-" Bofur tries to interrupt but Bilbo holds a hand up which he's come to realise means 'please let me finish talking because this is very important and sometimes a hobbit has to speak his mind' so he waits with bated breath and tries not to jiggle his knees from an odd and unexpected burst of nerves.  
  
"If we were in the Shire I'd be able to do this properly, I'd have you for afternoon tea and bake cakes, show you the garden and what was in bloom. There'd be clotted cream and jam." Bilbo's not the only one who sighs wistfully at that – Bombur's not a bad cook and he certainly knows how to make do with what they've got but what Bilbo's describing sounds heavenly. "Then we could go for a pint at the Green Dragon – a lovely place, if you ever come back through the Shire you really should go there, we all should in fact – and then sit out and have a smoke."  
  
"I'd like that very much," Bofur replies carefully and oh it's worth it when Bilbo's smile gets that much wider. "What I saw of the Shire, I liked it, liked it a lot and you have a very beautiful home."  
  
"I'm still so sorry for what I said," Bilbo says quietly after a pause where he turns to stare into the fire, poking at it with a stick even though it's in no need of stoking, "it was dreadful, appalling."  
  
"Bilbo don't, the past is the past – you almost died, I almost lost you."  
  
It takes a moment for Bofur to register his words. _I_ almost lost you. Not we. I.  
  
Mahal he feels like a fool.  
  
"Bofur?" A hand finds his in the dark and gives a squeeze. Bofur squeezes back because it's impossible not to. Hobbits are gentle folk of gentle natures and Bilbo is always resting a hand on an arm or shoulder when he can, now that he feels comfortable enough to and Bofur should be (and is, make no mistake he is) happy enough if this is all he'll have, a friendship honest and true.  
  
"Ah it's nothing lad," he says when he finds his voice, "was Balin telling you a story?"  
  
"Yes, yes he was," Bilbo replies and relates bits and pieces of it to Bofur until he starts yawning and apologising, leaning more and more heavily against Bofur who should tell him to go lie down but he likes having the hobbit's weight against him, his hair that still smells fresh and sweet as daisies even amongst them on the road. So he waits until he's asleep and wraps an arm around Bilbo's shoulders.  
  
When Bofur's shift ends and, with a little help from a grumbling Óin, he gets him to bed, he swears that he sees Gandalf's eyes twinkling from beneath his hat and he drifts off with a wizard's chuckle echoing in his ears. But he wakes with curls tickling his nose and Bilbo blinking with confusion before blushing as they sort themselves out for the day. True to his word, Bilbo starts to flag mid-afternoon as they tramp along behind Thorin but Bofur quickly slips his arm around his waist and steadies him. (Bombur notices but Bofur doesn't notice him noticing so he misses entirely the flurry of waving fingers and tapped wrists and forearms that occurs between him and Bifur. What he does notice is that Bombur starts making sure Bofur is the one giving Bilbo his meals, talks about just how good Bofur is with children and a hundred other things until Bofur pulls him to one side and gives him a piece of his mind.  
  
But it's not Bombur who influences the change in sleeping arrangements. Or that Bilbo somehow always ends up joining Bofur for watch duty. Or that sometimes, for no reason, Bilbo will look over at Bofur as Bofur looks over at him, smiling over nothing.)  
  
"You really miss your garden don't you?" Bofur comments one day when they've stopped for lunch, happy to watch Bilbo pluck late blooming (or so he assumes, the seasons are passing as Thorin likes to remind them when they groan about having to walk a bit longer or get up while it's still dark) flowers to put in his pack.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"The flowers. They must take up half your pack by now."  
  
"I've never seen any like these before but they smell wonderful," and that's all the warning Bofur gets before they're shoved under his nose causing him to sneeze so violently he ends up flat on his back to a chorus of laughter. "Ah sod off the lot of you!" He calls with no real heat. They need a bit of chuckle on these long marches. Laughter looks good on Bilbo, rosy cheeked and breathless as he apologises and then, casual as you please, plucks stray petals from Bofur's moustache, righting his cap for good measure.  
  
"Sorry, I don't suppose flowers and dwarves mix much." Bilbo carries on, tucking the blossoms away with care, proffering a hand that Bofur takes gratefully because of course no one has really bothered to tell Bilbo how important beards and hair are to their people no matter their age. They say so much about a person and grooming is important and Bilbo doesn't know so he shouldn't get his hopes up.  
  
Bombur does anyway. Balin winks, Dwalin guffaws and Thorin snorts when he sees his nephews waggling their eyebrows.  
  
"Bilbo my good fellow," Gandalf calls before Bilbo can register the change in atmosphere, "come join me for a moment if you would."  
  
That, it seems is that. But Bofur finds himself looking for some nicer wood he can work with even if he's lacking in time and tools. He can offer a gift and even though he knows damn well that it'll hurt if Bilbo only accepts it as a friend, he'll be content and devote himself to finishing the quest and whatever else the future will hold. Bilbo's friendship is more than many others could ever wish for and he already feels they have an understanding. He's told Bilbo about the things he misses and they've compared them when they've been on watch and Bilbo knows as much now about the politics of miners guilds as Bofur does about the great families of the Shire.  
  
Later he finds blossoms scattered in his pack. He realises now why Bilbo always manages to smell so clean and fresh, a little comfort from home that can translate to life on the road. He settles on carving him a teacup by night, not one that'll ever see use but he's sure Bilbo will appreciate it, and maybe, if Bofur's luck holds true, he'll love it.  
  
By the time Gandalf directs them to the shapeshifter's house, the gift is complete as it will ever be. He has no paints but he has skill with a knife and Ori offers him some ink (and an encouraging smile because Ori is young and likes romances from the great tales) to decorate with instead. It's the perfect place to hand over a gift and to find out where he stands once and for all because Beorn's house, whilst lacking in meat, is full of plentiful comforts and they take the time to relax as much as possible. There's the sweetest honey Bofur has ever tasted and they see a hobbit appetite in full force; Bombur looks ready to weep with pride and joy at the sight of the hobbit truly enjoying a hearty feast. Bilbo potters around Beorn's gardens, has more lessons with his dagger and puffs away on his pipe looking very contented. Bofur frets away from him, makes excuses when Bilbo asks if he'd like to go for a walk or to visit Beorn's hives and there's a growing furrow of concern upon his brow that Bofur wants to apologise for but he can't. He's meant to be getting this over and done with and he's making a mess of it, fretting and fiddling with the wooden teacup over and over. Balin – Balin who has always treated Bilbo kindly, explaining what needs to be explained, takes Bilbo aside one night – and Bofur wonders if some explanation is being given about Bofur acting as though he's got his head up his arse because he's pretty sure that's the way he's behaving at present.  
  
He takes a bath (oh what a luxury, soap and warm water instead of brisk scrubs of the essentials in the river) and heads outside to enjoy a balmy evening, allowing his hair to dry as he breathes deeply, eyes closed as bees buzz lazily nearby. He doesn't even hear Bilbo approach until there's a soft clearing of his throat, opening his eyes to find Bilbo brandishing a comb - _his_ comb at that – wearing an expression that he last wore when facing down a warg that was intent on gnawing on Thorin.  
  
"Bofur," he begins, sounding as formal as he did when telling them all off in Bag End, "may I comb your hair."  
  
Bofur's tongue feels too big and cumbersome for his mouth and he doubts he'd be able to speak anyway, he could maybe muster an embarrassing squeak and that'd be that. Instead he nods and clutches his hat tight in his lap as Bilbo kneels behind him and starts to comb his hair with great care, running his fingers through the strands to separate them into the braids Bofur wears. Bofur's heart is in his mouth but Bilbo doesn't seem to mind because he talks as he works, his movements gentle and methodical, making Bofur lean against him as all the tension in his body bleeds away. "Balin and Gandalf explained a few things to me, apparently they were growing tired of it and well it's a bit of a muddle isn't it? I would hate to be too forward and these things in the Shire involve a great deal of time, talking to family members and parents, chaperones, invitations to tea and supper and such. I wasn't sure how this worked for dwarves and what would be considered improper." Bofur twists his hat and thinks about the teacup in the pocket of his coat and how he's a bloody idiot sometimes. "I should have picked up on the hair and beard thing a while ago but it didn't seem right to intrude – I apologise if the braids aren't how you'd like, I was very small last time I did this with my cousins - when you were all bustling about. I can't believe how _quickly_ you manage this."  
  
"Bilbo-" Bofur starts, turning as much as he can and Bilbo's so close, Bofur's hair wrapped around his fingers as he pauses midway through braiding one side. "Are you...courting me?"  
  
"Trying to? I mean yes, I suppose I am even if this seems very rushed and lacking in decency and I don't know how dwarves and hobbits would court one another but I understand from what Balin and Gandalf have said that this is important and that some folk are rather more direct about these matters than we hobbits are."  
  
Bofur can feel the grin creeping across his face as Bilbo speaks and blindly he reaches for his coat, finding the gift with ease although he keeps it hidden until he's facing Bilbo, the braid still unfinished and coming loose but his heart is pounding in his chest and it's now or never. "For us, there's a lot of gifts involved – you can spend years of your life making something for someone, pouring everything you feel for them into it, expecting nothing, hoping for everything and preparing yourself for the worst." Carefully, aware of how inadequate it is, how hastily he's done this without the proper materials, he offers the teacup to Bilbo. "I know it's not much and I understand..." he trails off, biting his lip and looking anywhere that isn't Bilbo.  
  
"Oh Bofur," Bilbo sighs and he looks up, watching Bilbo trace all the little patterns he's carved into it, the small flowers he's picked out in black ink. "It's beautiful, I don't know what to say. Is thank you appropriate here?"  
  
"It depends," Bofur swallows and covers Bilbo's hands with his, "on the intent."  
  
"Oh," Bilbo murmurs quietly. There's a moment of deliberation then a small hand cups Bofur's cheek as Bilbo leans in to kiss him chastely. It's an awkward angle and they're both still holding the teacup and Bofur's hair is half undone and his hat is in his lap and they end up laughing. "Why don't we try that again?"  
  
"That sounds like the best suggestion I've heard all night."  
  
This time when Bilbo leans in, Bofur meets him halfway running his fingers through his soft curls as they kiss, his toes curling as his cheeks flush and he's torn between wanting to kiss Bilbo until they're forced to break apart for air and wanting to pick him up and spin him around shouting gleefully.  
  
As it happens they're startled out of the kiss a touch too soon with cheers and the jingling of coin. Of course everyone bet on this.  
  
"Would you like to join me for tea and cake?" Bilbo whispers as they gather their things, the teacup clutched tightly in his fist. "And some much needed privacy?"  
  
Bofur nods and lets himself be led away. He feels on top of the world, as though he could take on Smaug himself but he's in no rush now, sharing clotted cream and kisses in a quiet corner amongst warm furs without a care in the world.


End file.
